


if it hurts, baby, please tell me

by orphan_account



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 17:52:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7767463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fucking him is like going to war</p>
            </blockquote>





	if it hurts, baby, please tell me

**Author's Note:**

> wake me up when these two make up

Fucking him is like going to war.

It’s bloody and disgusting and so terrifyingly beautiful, his lithe body bending and breaking and molding to your will, eyes dull with drugs and pain and pleasure looking at what you are doing to him. Trent Reznor, industrial God, bent over the sink, against a filthy mirror in some sketchy bar, as your thrust into him, a hard punishing pace. And they said you wouldn’t amount to much.

You don’t fool yourself into thinking you have the reins in your hands because he makes you fight with teeth and nails to gain dominance only to realize it’s futile because he never breaks just so which makes you want to try again, makes you want to tear down this filthy fucking place. You are not quite sure from this angle, but you think you see him grinning.

***

Catching him working with Lynch is like catching him fucking some random groupie on a tour bus. You'd much rather prefer that.

You lose all trust in New Orleans, motels with cheap neon lights and hazel eyes.

***

You’re friends now, he is your multifaceted diamond again, reflecting the best of you right back at you.

The limo proves to be fitting enough for you two to fuck again. Because you’re friends he doesn’t mention the plaster and the cuts on your arms, just caresses them. Because you’re friends he doesn’t kiss as hard, he doesn’t push you too much, he doesn’t clog you with his very existence. Because you’re friends and he knows exactly what you need.

He never calls you again.

***

(“I am sorry about your mother, Brian.”

“You didn’t even pick up the phone.”)

***

It’s past midnight and you still torture yourself with what has passed and what has been. What hurts the most is what could have been. You turn to the side, do another line.

You two would always end up in disaster, you tell yourself as a consolation prize. You’d either kill each other or raise an empire together.


End file.
